


The Type

by speedgriffon



Series: I Shall Taunt You a Second Time | Dragonborn Fiona Fics [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 22:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/pseuds/speedgriffon
Summary: When two people are good at playing the game, who is more likely to get fooled? A look at Brynjolf and Fiona's first *actual* kiss.





	The Type

********“What do you think they’re talkin’ about?”

Brynjolf considered Delvin’s question as he took a sip of his ale, following his friend’s line of sight to where Vex and Fiona were sitting at a table near the water’s edge. The Flaggon was full of Guild members that evening, making their conversation too difficult to overhear. Vex was grinning as she spoke, but Fiona had a faraway look in her eyes.

“Delvin’s got the smallest—”

“ _Oi_!”

Brynjolf laughed when his friend smacked him, catching the way Fiona was now looking over at him over the rim of her tankard. If she was trying to be nonchalant, it was a poor effort. He winked, and softly chuckled at how quickly she turned away.

“Oh, I hope you aren’t planning on spoiling sweet Fiona,” Delvin spoke in a warning tone. When Brynjolf pulled a face to protest, the Breton shook a disapproving finger. “I know how you get with the pretty ones, Bryn. You bring them in, woo them around and scare them off.”

“I do _not_ ,” Brynjolf tried to argue, against his better judgement.

Delvin scoffed. “I’m not even going to list the names. Don’t remember them.” He took a swig of his ale. “But this sweetheart is actually good at what she does. A natural thief. Might actually help us turn this curse around if you let her.”

Delvin _was_ right. Ever since he had formally recruited Fiona to the Guild, she had been slowly making a name for herself, and now Mercer was asking for her to take on some jobs for him, under Brynjolf’s supervision. Not that they hadn’t already been working _closely_ together, getting to know one another. Sure, their friendship was an interesting one, if you could call it that _—_ more of a game of wits and flirtation, but nothing that Brynjolf couldn’t handle. And by all accounts, a game Fiona was a master of in her own rights.

“What’s the harm in having a little fun in the process?” Brynjolf asked. He figured, with Fiona, he could have his cake and eat it too.

Delvin shook his head. “Ten gold—I’m telling you, she’s not that type of girl.”

Brynjolf found Fiona’s gaze again from across the tavern and smirked, not breaking the contact as he took a long drink from his cup. “Let’s find out.”

She appeared flustered, turning away to speak with Vex for a few moments before abruptly standing up. Delvin let out a sharp laugh.

“Smooth. _Real_ smooth,” he teased. “I guess I don’t have to worry after all—”

“Shh!” Brynjolf hushed his friend, shooting back the rest of his drink before smacking it down on the bar counter. He’d take his friend’s bet, and more. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, taking in a deep breath to steel himself before following after Fiona towards the Cistern entrance.

He found her in the dark hallway, hands sliding across her waist as he turned her around. He dipped his head down without hesitation, faltering when his lips found the angle of chin instead of her lips as he intended. Was he ever going to succeed at that? Fiona had yet again turned her head at the last moment, but when he met her gaze, she was not holding the typical playful expression. Instead, she was looking away, lips pursed as if she was annoyed. Delvin’s words haunted him, but he hesitated to move away.

“I hope I haven’t read this situation incorrectly…” he nervously laughed. Fiona offered no reaction. “What’s the matter lass? You’re usually receptive to my charm.”

“Yes well,” she started. She looked at him flatly. “You’re a womanizer.”

Brynjolf was confused. “Aye, you know that. Didn’t think you cared.”

Fiona didn’t say anything, but didn’t move from his grasp either. She stared at him, scrutinizing him for a long moment before sighing. “Vex was right.”

“What?”

“You only know how to be one way with a woman,” Fiona explained.

Brynjolf leaned away slightly, taken aback. _That_ was what they were talking about? That he was a _womanizer_ and that… _what_? Devlin’s warning started to flash through his mind again, and he furrowed his brows.

“What do you mean, exactly?” he asked.

“Rushed, clandestine,” she said. “You don’t know anything about being gentle.”

Fiona’s hands came to rest on his arms. It was one thing to be told he didn’t know how to do something, _especially_ when it concerned the acts of intimacy. It was an insult to his name, let alone his pride. Considering there was a part of him that _was_ trying to woo Fiona…it wouldn’t do. Brynjolf took a deep breath, focusing on the moment.

“Perhaps you should show me,” he suggested in a low voice.

She shook her head. “That’s exactly what you want.”

“Obviously,” he answered, leaning forward again. Surprisingly, Fiona didn’t move away. Her eyes flicked to his lips to his eyes in a quick motion. “Come on, lass. Enlighten me.”

She blinked at him, and slowly her hands moved. One framed the side of his face, the other gently cupped his neck as she brought him closer to her level. Brynjolf smiled to himself briefly, fluttering his eyes closed as he felt the warmth of her lips hover over his. He didn’t move, allowing her to take the lead. She lingered there, and he felt the faintest trace of her own smile before she closed the gap. Instinctively he squeezed at her waist, reminding himself not to overreact by deepening the kiss as he wanted. After all, he had been thinking about kissing her since he saw her that afternoon in the Bee and Barb. No, he had wanted to kiss her when he didn’t even know her name back in Solitude.

Fiona kissed him sweetly, gently. _Slowly_. Brynjolf was unfamiliar with the sensation he felt, a tingle traveling from his tows up his spine to his brain and down again. A delightful warmth spreading throughout his chest. It wasn’t his typical rowdy reaction when a beautiful woman such as this kissed him. When she started to pull away, he found himself leaning in to savor every last second, breathing out as if she stole his breath along with the kiss.

She was smiling a sweet, tiny smile when he finally opened his eyes. “How’s that?”

“I—” Brynjolf cursed in his mind as he was at a loss for words. Her smile grew.

Fiona slipped from his grasp, walking backwards through the Cistern doorway with a wave. “Goodnight, Brynjolf.”

He shook his head, wiping his face down with a hand. Delvin was right—and he owed him some gold.


End file.
